


Twentysecond

by isitandwonder



Series: Sherlock Advent Calendar [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cum Play, Dom John, Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5493212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Good boy.” John acclaims. “Enjoy the sensory input. Perhaps I'll let you get off when I come up again, later. But only if I like what I see.”<br/>John tries to teach Sherlock some patience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twentysecond

Sherlock is fidgeting. 

He's tried the violin but it soon became mindless screeching. He's tried experimenting but scorching eyeballs doesn't hold a fascination for him today. He's tried reading one of his magazines but neither the Journal of Forensic Anthropology nor Time Out have anything interesting to tell.

Tea!

Tea might help.

He puts the kettle on and throws a bag in his mug (John had insisted on labelling crockery never to be used for storing any kind of body parts or living or dead anthropodic organisms, so now they both have their own designated mugs), then waits for the water to boil.

It takes ages.

That's when the fidgeting starts.

It escalates quickly. After a few minutes, Sherlock is pacing the kitchen frantically, tearing at his hair with both hands, yelling dramatically: “God, please, this is so very … tedious! I'm positively going mad! I'm sure it's quite possible to just go insane from boredom! I might actually go out and kill someone myself, for lack of anything even remotely interesting!”

When John comes down, alarmed by the commotion, he finds Sherlock banging his head against the melamine table top.

“Sherlock, what the fuck...?”

“Bored!” shouts the detective and as he looks up vigorous alertness flickers over his face. “Where's your gun? Give me your gun!”

“To shoot the wall again?”

“No, actually, to shoot myself to prevent my brain from rotting alive. Or, even better, shooting someone else instead. There's this guy two doors down, second floor, I'm sure he's into child pornography. No harm done there.”

“Sherlock, are you seriously entertaining the notion of executing our neighbours?”

“Well, if no one else does it. Needs must...”

_“Bedroom, now!”_

It's John's no nonsense voice and Sherlock sits suddenly bold upright, staring at Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and swallows hard, his throat bobbing. 

“Didn't you hear me? Don't make me repeat myself!” 

Sherlock is on his feet and way up the stairs towards the other bedroom before John has finished his sentence. 

He's standing in the middle of the room, eyes cast down, when John comes up a few minutes later. John's carrying a glass of water, which he sets carefully down onto the bedside table. 

“Take your clothes off.” John's voice is firm but not unkind. 

Sherlock's pupils are the size of saucers. He knows what's coming, half longing for and half fearing it. But he obeys. 

He takes off his dressing gown first, letting it slide to the floor. His t-shirt and pyjama bottoms follow, until he's just in his tight grey boxer briefs. 

“Them too,” John orders. He's standing close, his hands clasped behind his back, feet slightly apart, like on parade's rest. 

Sherlock is aware of his hard-on, the head already glistening with precome. He can smell his own musky scent as he finally strips bare and exposes himself to John's scrutiny. 

“You nee to learn some discipline,” John mutters and his words go straight to Sherlock's cock, making it twitch. “God, look at you...” 

Sherlock's cheeks burn bright crimson. He's not looking at John but he senses him stepping even closer, the warmth of his body radiating, until they are just inches apart. 

“How badly do you need it?” 

“Very,” Sherlock gasps. 

“Mm, I think so, too.” 

Sherlock is positively leaking by now. A drop of clear fluid drops onto his thigh and he moans, licking his lower lip. 

As John circles him, he slightly brushes Sherlock's shoulder. The contact with the rough wool of John's jumper makes Sherlock shiver. 

John lets his fingertips trail down Sherlock's spine, his digits bumping over the protruding vertebrae. They linger at the small of Sherlock's back, not pushing further down where they are urgently wanted but Sherlock knows better then to force it. 

“I'm just going to get a few things. Don't move.” Sherlock nods. 

He can hear John rummaging through the chest of drawers and the anticipation makes him tense. He's concentrating on his breathing, which has sped up rapidly in excitement. 

John returns and places a few items on the bed. Sherlock dares not to glimpse at them. 

“Hands on your back.” 

John binds them together from wrists to elbows with a raw hemp rope. Sherlock knows it's black, even if he can't see it; a stark contrast to his pale skin. 

“Open your mouth.” Sherlock does and a spider gag is pushed between his parted lips. John fastens the leather strap at the back of Sherlock's head, pulling it tight, before adjusting it, spreading Sherlock's mouth open uncomfortably wide. 

“Stay like this. I'll be back in an hour. That'll teach you some patience.” John sets a timer on his phone and puts it down on the nightstand, before going back downstairs.  
Sherlock can watches the time tick by. After a few minutes, he starts drooling, as the gag prevents him form swallowing. Saliva runs down his chin and drips on his chest, even on his hard, twitching cock and he's unable to stop it. It's embarrassing, it's fucking hot and it's definitely not boring. 

He feels the brackets cut into the corners of his mouth, chafing the soft skin there. The thought of how depraved he must look makes him even harder. As he lowers his gaze he can see that his foreskin is fully retracted, the head of his cock nearly purple. He could come like this but he really has no idea what John would do to him if he dared. 

Precisely after one hour, John returns. Sherlock's body is flushed pink down to his abdomen and his chin and neck are drenched in spit. John smears his fingers through it, before pushing his index and middle finger inside Sherlock's wide open mouth. 

Sherlock tries to moan to communicate his need to be touched but it comes out like a kind of gurgling groan. 

“God, you are such a needy thing. Look at you, all wet and filthy, waiting to be taken.” John smudges more saliva over Sherlock's cheekbones, nose and closed eyelids, until they are glistening wet. 

“On your knees.” 

Sherlock sinks onto the floor, almost melting. John grabs his hair to steady him, then opens his fly and pulls his hard cock out. He strokes it over Sherlock's cheek and chin, through the mess he's made there. As John finally shoves it quite unceremoniously down Sherlock's throat, he has no choice but to swallow everything. Sherlock's copious drooling makes it all nicely slick and John can push in deep without meeting resistance. 

He looks down at Sherlock, who's nearly choking on his boner and demands in a dangerously low voice: “Look up at me.” 

When Sherlock's eyes meet John's, they are nearly black, the pupils surrounded only by a thin corona of silver. John watches his cock move in and out of Sherlock's wide open mouth, feeling the muscles in Sherlock's throat contract as he gags and almost sobs with arousal. John puts one hand over Sherlock's larynx and can feel himself. It's intoxicating. 

Looking into Sherlock's face, John can't resist the impulse; he lowers his head and opens his mouth, letting a dollop of his own spit drop down onto Sherlock's forehead. It runs over the bridge of his nose, slowly dripping down into his left eye socket but Sherlock doesn't squint, he keeps his eye open and this is so fucking hot that John pulls out and comes all over Sherlock's face, coating his features with thick stripes of pearly semen. 

Sherlock is humping the air by now, making desperate noises as he seeks some kind of friction. When he nearly topples over, John grabs him by the shoulder to steady him. 

“Shh, love, stay with me.” 

Sherlock sways slightly but stays upright. He tries to blink, bit his eyelids are covered with cum, his long black lashes sticky and drenched. 

John tucks away his spent cock, his eyes never leaving Sherlock. Then he carefully removes the gag. Sherlock's yaw hurts from the forced suspension and he swallows a few times before licking his sore lips. 

“Here, drink something.” John sets the glass of water to his lips and lets Sherlock sip it slowly. 

“John, please...,” Sherlock pants desperate after he's emptied it halfway. His dark flushed cock juts out obscenely in front of his lean, pale torso. 

“I know. But, remember, patience.” John whispers as he starts to gather the gooey cum on Sherlock's face with index and middle finger and pushes them into the man's still slack and pliant mouth. 

“Mmh, look at you, letting me feed you my come. So greedy, so eager, almost gagging for it.” 

Sherlock hums and sucks with abandon until the muscles in his abdomen start to quiver visibly. 

“Not yet.” John removes his fingers and Sherlock groans in despair. “You just haven't earned it yet, baby,” John whispers. 

“God, John... please, what...,” Sherlock wails. He doesn't care that it sounds like begging. 

But when John's fingers tighten around Sherlock's throat, he immediately shuts his mouth, realising too late that he's made a grave mistake. 

“Such a garrulous piece of work,” John hisses. “Do you really think it's up to you to decide? Do you honestly believe you're in the position to demand… anything?” He doesn't sound angry, just disappointed, which is far worse. 

Despite John's fierce grip, Sherlock manages to shake his head slightly. He watches John from wide open eyes. 

“Damn right. You know what? I think I'll keep you like this a little while longer, until you've learned your lesson good and proper.” 

With that, John gets up and takes another device from the bed. A rather big black ball gag is insistently pressed against Sherlock's lips, which open almost on their own account to welcome the rubber ball. 

“Good boy.” John acclaims. “Enjoy the sensory input. Perhaps I'll let you get off when I come up again, later. But only if I like what I see.” 

With that, John goes downstairs, leaving Sherlock to experience the sensation of come drying on his face while again drooling uncontrollably. His knees already ache, his eyes burn and his cock is so hard it hurts, with his balls drawn tight against his body but, at least, he's not bored at all. 


End file.
